Endings and Beginnings
by Amber Greene
Summary: The final confrontation between Harry and Lord Voldemort, and what happens afterwards, as seen through Hermione's eyes.
1. Chapter One The End

**Endings and Beginnings**

  
  


**CHAPTER ONE - THE END**

  
  
  
Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger stood just in front of Hogwarts Castle, forming a triangle, with their backs against each other. Harry was facing front across the grounds. Ron was facing Harry's left, in the direction of the Forbidden Forest, while Hermione stood to Harry's right, facing the Quidditch pitch. It was a stance they had adopted since the battle started. They had agreed that they would each deal with whoever and whatever came up to them from the position they were flanking. Fawkes the Phoenix flew in circles over them, drawn to them by their loyalty to the memory of Professor Dumbledore, filling the air with a song that gave strength and comfort. 

Although the phoenix song kept up Hermione's courage, it did not take away the keen sense of regret she felt. _It's too late_, her heart whispered to her. _If only..._ She glanced at her two best friends. Her eyes lingered on Ron, and a wave of sadness threatened to overwhelm her. _Not now_, she thought. But when would she ever be free to dwell on it? She had pushed aside all her feelings for Ron since the war started. If they ever lived to see another day, both of them would have changed so much that perhaps their feelings wouldn't matter anymore. 

She was startled out of her thoughts when Fawkes dropped something he was holding in his talons. It was the sword of Gryffindor. But to her surprise, it wasn't Harry who had caught it. Fawkes had given the sword to Ron. She took one glance at the sword, and saw that it had changed. The first time Harry and Ron saw it (and described it to her), it was shorter and thin-bladed, almost like a rapier, something that a twelve-year-old boy could wield. But now, it was a full-length, broad-bladed, double-edged sword, fit for a man's hands. Ron grasped the jeweled hilt and turned to the side. It was then that she saw what he would have to deal with. 

Six trolls emerged from the snowy borders of the Forbidden Forest. These creatures were completely different from the slow-witted mountain troll they had encountered in their first year. These were shorter, but more cunning -- they were mercenaries, selling their services to the highest bidder, or to the side that promised the most rewards. These trolls would be ruthless. Ron stepped forward to meet them. Hermione's first impulse was to stop him, to pull him back into the security their triangle gave. 

But in the next moment, her thoughts were ripped away from Ron when she saw at least twenty Death Eaters positioning themselves before her and Harry. They were surrounded. Their enemies moved arrogantly towards them -- clearly underestimating them, no doubt thinking that twenty of them would be more than enough to defeat two seventh-year students, even if one of them _was_ Harry Potter. The Death Eaters rushed upon them, confident that they would quickly overwhelm their younger and less experienced opponents. In a matter of seconds, ten of them were put out of commission. Hermione almost laughed out loud at the confusion within their enemies' ranks. 

Earlier in the year, she had developed code words for each combat spell, a one- or two-syllable substitute for the Latin words of the spell they wanted to cast. At first, she had developed the code to help Ron, who was becoming increasingly frustrated with having to "say the magic words properly," as Professor Flitwick used to remind them, while they were practicing during D.A. sessions. When Harry found out what they were doing, he had insisted that all D.A. members learn the code as well. They spent countless hours practicing, willing their minds and their powers to make each spell happen. Little did they know how useful it would turn out to be, especially now. The code had become their secret weapon, their advantage. 

The code started out with the basic spells: "throw" for _Expelliarmus_, "stun" for_ Stupefy_, "shut up" for_ Silencio_, "shield" for_ Protego_ and "freeze" for _Petrificus_ _Totalus_, gradually moving on towards more complex spells, such as binding with ropes that only the spellcaster could loosen and breaking an enemy's wand. It was during her research into offensive spells that she discovered one that was used to drive an opponent insane, which turned out to be the curse that had hit Ron when they fought against the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries in their fifth year. It was a testament to his resilience that he had managed to survive that curse without losing his sanity. 

Even though the Death Eaters hurled a dizzying number of spells at the two of them, Harry and Hermione were able to defend themselves effectively, as well as hurl back an almost equal amount of offensive spells that quickly decimated the enemy's ranks. The remaining Death Eaters, seeing how they had been outwitted, called for reinforcements. At the same time, they now tried to draw the two of them away from each other, and thus ultimately conquer them. 

The strategy was working. Harry no longer stood with his back against her. He had moved forward to engage their opponents more fully. From where she stood, she couldn't see how Ron fared against the trolls. But out of the corner of her eye, she could see that Harry had dispatched at least six of the Death Eaters that challenged him. She herself had disarmed and knocked out about ten. However, instead of easing, the battle around them had grown rather more intense. It was then that she noticed more hooded and cloaked figures were coming at them from all directions. 

Suddenly, a hush came over the grounds, as a blanket of coldness seemed to engulf them, making the winter chill almost unbearable. The Death Eaters stopped duelling with them and stood at attention. Harry clutched at his scar with both hands. It meant only one thing: Voldemort had come to kill him. 

The Death Eaters who remained standing stepped aside, to give room for their master to face The Boy Who Lived and destroy him at last. There was no one else to help Harry except Ron and Hermione. There was no else who could reach them in time. The other prefects and members of the D.A. were most likely defending their assigned areas of the school from Death Eaters or other dark creatures as well. Likewise, most of the members of the Order of the Phoenix had been deployed to where the fighting was heaviest: in Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, the Ministry of Magic, and St. Mungo's. Hermione felt a surge of anger run through her body at the thought of Death Eaters causing chaos and destruction at the wizarding hospital. Voldemort had ordered attacks even against those who were too sick and weak to fight. People such as her parents... 

All her angry thoughts were swept away at the sight of Ron coming forward and placing himself between Harry and Voldemort. She gasped as she took in the sight of Ron's shoulder bleeding, his robes and shirt torn to shreds, gashes on his face and arms, and his wand and Gryffindor's sword both broken. A thin sliver of wood and the core of unicorn tail hair were all that held the two ends of his wand together. There was blood trickling down from his head. She looked behind her for one split second, and saw that he had killed all six trolls. The other half of Gryffindor's sword was buried in the chest of the largest troll. 

"Ron, no!" Harry cried, trying to push Ron to the side, out of Voldemort's line of fire. Hermione sensed that Ron was weak from loss of blood, but he only let Harry push him a little bit to the left. She herself came forward and stood firmly to Harry's right. 

Turning to look at Voldemort, Hermione saw for the first time the hideousness of the face that haunted Harry and Ron's dreams. Of the three of them, she was the only one that hadn't seen Voldemort up close yet. Ron had seen him when he and his Death Eaters attacked the Burrow on Boxing Day to kill the Weasleys for their involvement in the Order. She knew Ron still grieved for the destruction of his home, for Charlie's almost total memory loss, and for Percy's crippling. She knew his hatred for Voldemort had finally cast away his fear of even saying that dreaded name. 

She wished she had been with Ron that day. But she had gone to visit her parents at St. Mungo's, where they were being treated for magical wounds and lacerations that wouldn't close, no matter how many times Muggle surgeons stitched them up, and regardless of the sealing spells and potions the mediwizards used. Her parents would have died if they had remained confined in Muggle hospital. It was through the Weasleys' Ministry connections that her parents came to be admitted into St. Mungo's, where their injuries, although not completely cured, were soothed and lessened somewhat. 

The very thought of what had happened to her parents still had the power to make her cry. Death Eaters had attacked her parents a week before the Christmas holidays, and had burned their house to the ground. However, it seemed they were not meant to be killed outright; their injuries were meant to provoke Harry into leaving his sanctuary and rushing blindly into Voldemort's clutches. 

Dumbledore had allowed Harry to spend Christmas at the Burrow, but had insisted that he travel by portkey back to Hogwarts early the following morning. The Headmaster had been right -- the three of them gathered in one place was too tempting an opportunity for the Dark Lord to pass up. When Harry first found out about the attack on Hermione's parents, he had been almost inconsolable. But Harry's fury over what had happened to the Weasleys was a terrifying sight. An intense wave of magic surged around him, making it impossible for anyone to come near him. Only when his anger had given way to guilt and sorrow had he become safe enough to touch again. 

The three of them knew that was the one sign they were waiting for, that Harry did indeed have "power the Dark Lord knows not." What they needed to figure out was how to draw out and amplify that power when the time came. Hermione feverishly drew up a mountain of Arithmancy equations, and concluded that Harry needed to combine his power with another wizard's. Sadly, Dumbledore had died before he and Hermione could figure out how to unite their magic with Harry's and use it against Voldemort in that final confrontation. She and the Headmaster had agreed that it was the bond of love and friendship she shared with Harry and Ron that would be the key to strengthening the powers Harry had, to make him the Dark Lord's equal, but filled with Light, instead of Dark, magic. If only they had found out how to use it before Dumbledore embarked on his "next great adventure." 

As Hermione continued to look at Voldemort, she realised she was no longer capable of fearing him. The fear had been replaced by hatred and loathing. She noticed that the snakelike eyes glinted with amusement at the sight before him. Only three people stood between him and his goal of razing Hogwarts to the ground. And of those three, one was wounded, and one was a Mudblood who could possibly have no extraordinary powers. To those snakelike eyes, no victory could be easier. Especially since Dumbledore, the only wizard Voldemort had ever feared, was dead, having been caught in an ambush with six dark wizards simultaneously casting the Killing Curse on him. 

"Is this what you bring against me, Harry Potter?" Voldemort hissed. "The weakest and most foolish son in a family of weaklings and fools? A Mudblood who was stupid enough to think her Muggle parents would be safe in the care of mad old Dumbledore?" He started to laugh, a sibilant, spine-chilling laugh that made his own Death Eaters cringe. 

But Hermione didn't flinch. Instead, she drew herself to her full height. At that moment, when she should have been filled with despair, her whole being flooded with triumph. Voldemort didn't know, and could never know, how comforting it was to die surrounded by one's friends, rather than to live a thousand lifetimes alone. From out of the corner of her eye, she could see Harry's fingers clench tighter around his wand. And Ron... Ron had stepped forward again. 

"It may not be much, Voldemort, but I'm willing to shed the last drop of my blood for Harry. You'll never understand what it's like to have someone die for you because they love you. And what you don't understand will destroy you." Before anyone could stop him, Ron used the broken sword blade to nick his own forearm. "Every last drop of my blood is for my brother Harry. It will give him enough strength to kill you." 

As Ron's blood trickled down to the snow at his feet, Gryffindor's sword began to glow. The golden light that sprang from the sword began from the traces of Ron's blood. Hermione gasped. She now understood how their bond would help Harry fulfill the prophecy that had been spoken long ago. She had to have her blood on the sword to be able to give her strength, her power, her very will, for Harry to use. She turned to Harry, and saw that he also knew what he had to do. She watched as he gripped Ron's arm. Ron nodded to him, and handed him the sword. Harry tore at his shirt, exposing his own forearm, and used the sword to nick his flesh. Gryffindor's sword glowed brighter. Hermione haphazardly rolled up her shirt sleeve, then reached out to take the sword from Harry. She passed the broken blade over her forearm, and she began to bleed. She handed the sword back to Harry. As Harry held the sword, his wounded arm also began to glow with a golden light. 

Voldemort, sensing impending danger upon seeing the broken sword glowing, ordered his Death Eaters to attack them. But the golden light must have made it difficult for their enemies to look at the three of them directly, as curses flew wildly around them but never even came close to hitting them. 

On impulse, Hermione held out her wounded arm to Ron. He gripped her outstretched hand, and she felt their magic mingle. But in the next moment, she was hit with a force so strong that she nearly fell to her knees. The force wrapped itself around her, overwhelming her with emotion, and made her tears fall. She felt as though she was a twig exposed to a furnace. It took her several moments before she finally understood what that force was: it was love. Ron's love... for her. It filled her until she couldn't hold any more. She tried to send back to him her own feelings, but she didn't know if she succeeded. All she could feel was her regret choking her, making the tears fall faster. 

Harry gripped the broken sword tighter with his left hand, and touched its jagged tip to Ron and Hermione's clasped hands. She felt herself being drained of all her thoughts, all her feelings, all her strength. Everything she had was flowing into Harry, making his whole body glow. The Death Eaters standing closest to them began to scream and claw at their eyes. They had been blinded by the golden light. Yet, her own eyes remained undamaged. She was able to see the determined look on Harry's face, and the awe in Ron's. 

Harry raised his wand and pointed it at Voldemort. "You've caused enough trouble here. Go away and don't ever come back." The golden light that bathed Harry's body was being sucked into his wand. The wand vibrated and glowed for several moments, and then the golden light shot out from it and headed straight for Voldemort. 

Voldemort raised his own wand and cast a shield around himself to deflect the light, to avoid binding the brother wands together. But the golden light proved to be stronger than any dark magic the Dark Lord knew. Hermione watched as the golden light wrapped around the shield, forming a bubble around Voldemort. 

Voldemort screamed -- a high-pitched wail that chilled Hermione's blood. He was trapped inside the bubble. None of his spells could break it. "Get me out of here!" he screamed at his Death Eaters. 

Two of them leapt forward and tried to release their master. Their spells bounced off the bubble. They tore off their masks in exasperation, and Hermione recognized them: Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange. 

"Do something!" their master hissed. 

Hermione's eyes widened when she saw them pointing their wands at her and Ron. _"AVADA KEDAVRA!"_ they yelled simultaneously, and she saw two bolts of green light hurtling towards them. She raised her wand, but she knew she couldn't block an Unforgivable Curse. She squeezed Ron's hand in farewell and waited for the curse to hit her. 

To her surprise, the green bolt headed straight into her wand. She looked towards Ron. He had held up his own broken wand, mirroring her defiant stance, even though he had known it was useless. The energy of the curse had been absorbed into the exposed core of his wand. It glowed green and silver for an instant, and then the broken ends snapped back together. Red and gold sparks shot out of its tip, and it was whole again. 

Hermione aimed her wand at Bellatrix Lestrange, as Ron aimed his at Lucius Malfoy. Neither of them attempted to recite any incantation. Hermione instinctively felt that the force that bound them together would act on its own. Identical golden beams shot out of their wands and hit the two dark wizards. She watched in horror as their robes, then their flesh, began to melt and continued melting until their bones crumbled to the ground. The other Death Eaters, seeing the fate of their comrades, fled towards Hogsmeade, where they could Disapparate to safety. 

Scream after scream began to pierce the air around them. The terrible sound was coming from Voldemort. The golden bubble that had surrounded him started to contract, growing smaller and smaller, until it began to touch him, causing burns that gave off a stench worse than rotting flesh. The bubble contracted yet again, and Voldemort's robes started to burn. He burst into flame. His body twisted in agony and his arms thrashed in all directions, desperately trying to cast a spell, any spell, that would bring him relief. Hermione closed her eyes, but it didn't seem to block out the image of Voldemort being slowly consumed. His cries grew weaker as the stench of his burning flesh grew stronger. Then there was silence. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw a heap of ashes and tattered robes where Voldemort had stood. The golden light of their combined magic flowed back into Harry's wand and gradually disappeared. Harry moved the sword away from her and Ron's hands, thus releasing them from their magical bond. Hermione felt her knees tremble. She tried to keep her hold on Ron's hand, but her fingers started slipping away from his. Her knees gave way, and she fell to the ground. She felt the thin layer of snow on the ground melt from the heat of her forearm, and realised she was still bleeding from her self-inflicted wound. 

She looked up and saw that dusk was falling around Hogwarts. Chunks of stone were poking into her back, but she didn't care. Hogwarts was still standing. The people sheltered inside the school were safe. She had done her part. The thought made her smile before her eyes closed and darkness took her.   



	2. Chapter Two Aftermath

**CHAPTER TWO: AFTERMATH**

  
  
  
  
Hermione was slowly gaining consciousness. She discovered she was lying on something soft and warm, totally different from the discomfort of the ground where she had fallen. It took several seconds for her to figure out that she was snugly wrapped in blankets, resting in a bed inside the hospital wing. She opened her eyes the tiniest bit, and light flooded in, blinding her even behind her eyelids. She groaned. Instantly, she felt people crowding around her. She tried to move her hand so she could shield her eyes, but even the slightest movement seemed to make her skull explode with pain. Someone shielded her eyes with their hand, and a voice spoke. "It's all right, dear, you can open your eyes now." 

_Mum!_ every nerve inside her body screamed. She willed her eyes to open, and she saw her parents standing on either side of her bed. Her dad's hand blocked the light of the afternoon sun from shining full force into her face. Her eyes started to blur with tears. 

"Mum, dad," she sobbed. Her tears were choking her, but she tried to continue talking. "W-when did you..." 

"Last week," her father answered as he wiped away her tears. "The mediwizard taking care of us said a phoenix flew in from the window and -- cried over us. I remember waking up and seeing your mum smiling at me, and I knew we were going to be fine." 

"L-last week? How long have I been unconscious?" 

"Nearly ten days now. We were asking Madam Pomfrey if that phoenix -- Ron told us its name was Fawkes, I think -- could come here and -- er, cry over you. But she said..." 

She stopped listening to her mother when she mentioned Ron's name. "Where's Ron? Is he all right?" 

"He's fine, dear. He woke up yesterday and got out of bed today. Wouldn't listen to anyone. Said he had work to do," her mother said. 

The sound of shuffling noises outside the hospital wing made her turn towards the door, choosing to ignore the pain her slight motion caused. She saw an unconscious Ron being carried by his twin brothers, Fred and George, back to his bed. 

"Stubborn git," Fred panted. 

"Heavy as Hagrid, too," George said, as he gulped for air. 

They threw Ron onto his bed. The bed springs creaked as his body landed on the mattress. "What in Merlin's name made him think he can go on patrol duty? He could barely walk." 

"Trying to set an example to the other students, the idiot said. Thought it'd cheer them up to see the Head Boy alive and well again. Lucky he didn't fall down those stairs." 

"Prat," Fred whispered affectionately, ruffling his younger brother's hair. 

"Bighead tosser," George mumbled, as he took off Ron's shoes as gently as he could and placed them on the floor. 

"You could have floated him back in here," Hermione said. She inwardly cringed at how weak her voice sounded. 

As one, the twins' heads bobbed up, turned towards her, and sprinted towards her bed. 

"Our wands broke," Fred answered. "We've Spellotaped 'em back together, but I don't think it's such a good idea to use 'em." Hermione nodded, remembering how Ron's broken wand backfired every time he used it back in second year. 

"And Ollivander's was leveled to the ground -- most of his inventory's either damaged or stolen. Poor bloke can't meet half the demand for new wands," George added. "Besides, we can't af--" he stopped, and looked sheepishly at Fred, who was glaring at him. 

"Er, I'm glad you're better now," George said, obviously trying to distract her from thinking about that exchange between him and his twin. 

"Yeah, I'm sure our baby brother will be able to keep his pecker up now, seeing as you're well enough to scold him again," Fred joked as he squeezed her shoulder lightly. 

"And he'd probably hex you if he heard you say that," a voice spoke from the other side of her bed. 

"Harry!" Hermione gasped. It took quite an effort on her part, but she was finally able to turn towards him, lift her arms from the bed and hold them out to him. 

He bent towards her and embraced her tenderly. "I'm so glad you're awake now," he spoke in a choked voice. "I thought... I thought you might be... you and Ron were both unconscious for so long, while I barely needed to lie down after--" 

His words ended in a sob. Hermione patted his back and let him cry on her shoulder. After a few moments, he straightened up, blushing as he wiped away his tears, embarrassed that he couldn't control his emotions in front of the twins and her parents. Her mum came forward, laid her hand on his arm and gave it a gentle squeeze. He smiled and nodded to her. 

"Where's Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione asked the twins, partly out of curiosity, and partly in an effort to turn their attention away from Harry. 

"Oh, they're... well, they're... you know," George stammered. 

"Out on Order business?" Hermione asked. 

"No, they're... oh, bugger it all, I don't see why we can't say anything about it to you. You're family too, after all," Fred huffed. "See, mum and dad, Bill, Charlie and Percy, they're... they're trying to see if they can rebuild the Burrow." 

She gaped at them. "B-but Percy can't--" She stopped herself just before she could say 'walk.' 

"No, but he can still cast spells. And even if Charlie doesn't... remember how to cast spells--" 

"--yet," George interrupted with a low growl. 

"Er, yeah... well, he can still help clear up the debris," Fred finished. 

"Oh." Hermione felt her heart being squeezed in two. The Weasleys might not have lost any of their children, but their suffering was still heavy to bear. "What about Ginny?" 

"She's in class," Harry answered. "Professor McGonagall started classes again for the students who were staying. She thought they would feel assured that the war was over if they went about their old routines again." 

"Besides, she just can't bear not teaching," Fred added. 

"Ginny promised she'd come here right after classes end, which would be... just about now," Harry said. 

"Then that means dinner's almost ready. C'mon then, we have to go to the kitchens and get-- ow!" George rubbed the back of his neck, where Fred had whacked him. 

"Can't you _ever_ keep a secret, you wanker?" Fred growled. 

"_You're_ the one who told Hermione what mum and dad were doing, so who's the one who can't keep his cake hole shut, then?" George snapped at his twin. 

Hermione's eyes widened as she realised the implications of George's unfortunate slip. The Weasleys had lost everything. Fred and George must have come to nick food from the kitchens so their parents and brothers would have something to eat later. Oh, God. Was it really that bad for them? Why hadn't she known? Did Ron know? Was that the reason why Ron was trying so hard to get back on his feet again, so nobody could reproach him for... for something he had no control over, something that wasn't even his fault? 

She felt her throat closing up. But she had to say something, anything even remotely helpful. One thing came to mind. She tried to keep her voice even as she spoke. "You should... you should ask for Dobby, then." Her voice interrupted the twins mid-bicker. 

"Who?" 

"Dobby the house-elf. Tell him I sent you," Harry answered. It seemed he quickly caught on to what she meant. She looked into his eyes, and saw that he had known about the Weasleys' predicament for some time. "Better yet, let me go with you. He'll give you more food than you can carry,... er, that is... if... if you want," Harry added uncertainly. 

The twins stiffened at Harry's words. After a few tense moments, they exchanged a look, and Fred nodded. "So, guess we'd better go now. We'll come back and visit you soon, Hermione." 

She smiled as she held her hand out to him. "Just me? What about Ron?" 

"Aw, he's a prat, he doesn't need visiting. What he needs is a good woman who'll sn--" This time, George took a distinct pleasure in whacking his brother upside the head as payback for hitting him earlier. Fred wrestled with his twin, dragging him out of the hospital wing without giving him a chance to say goodbye to Hermione. She smiled and gave Harry a little wave as he followed the twins. 

Hermione turned to her parents. "How bad is it?" 

"Terrible. Percy and Charlie's treatments have been a heavy burden, not to mention useless. The Ministry is in shambles, so Arthur's as good as jobless right now. And then, their home... we offered to help, of course. It was the least we could do, after they saved our lives. But Molly and Arthur would have none of it," her mum answered. 

"I tried convincing Arthur again, just this morning, before he left. The insurance money we got on our house when -- when it was burnt down... I said we could split it with them. After all, we could just get a flat in London, near that leaking saucepan place--" 

"Leaky Cauldron, dad," Hermione interrupted. 

"Oh, right. Well, Arthur was very touched, but he still said no. Harry offered to help out too, but it seems Molly scolded him something awful, so he didn't dare try again." 

"I -- I don't understand. Why would they refuse? After all they've given us, surely we could give something back, especially in light of what's happened," Hermione said. 

"They're a stubborn and independent lot, the Weasleys. If they have to, they'll all work their fingers to the bone to get back on their feet again." 

"But if... if you said it was a loan, and they could pay you back when they can..." 

"They know we'd never accept if they tried to pay us back. And... and I think they know that... they probably won't be able to, anyway." 

"So that's it? We just sit back and watch them struggle? What kind of people does that make us?" 

"Darling, it's not like that at all. But surely you must know how proud they can be. You've told us enough times how Ron reacts to any remarks about his family's... financial situation. And that was before all this happened to them. Your mum and I, we think about it a lot." 

Hermione's dad lowered his voice to a confidential whisper. "But we managed to put one over on them every now and then. We bought them a few things, and told them it's to replace the Christmas gifts we gave them earlier. I've offered Ron a job at the clinic--" He broke off to look at Ron as he lay in his bed. "Well, when he gets better, anyway. Rebuilding cupboards and things like that. I heard he's good at carpentry." Her dad tipped her a wink as he finished whispering. 

Hermione blushed. She recalled how she had gushed over the fact that Ron had built her a bookshelf that stretched from floor to ceiling and spanned three walls of her room, just because she had complained about the Head Girl's room having only a piddling shelf that couldn't even hold the books she read _for fun_. When he had finished, Ron had joked about her being able to alphabetize and sort her schoolbooks, as well as the other half of the library she'd already borrowed, to her heart's content. He had also charmed the bookshelf so that it would shrink to the size of a matchbox, and Hermione could take it with her when she vacated her room at the end of their seventh year. 

Her flaming face must have been the reason why her parents exchanged a significant look. But, to her relief, they didn't make any comments about it. Her mum broke the awkward silence. "I heard Professor McGonagall has asked Percy to be Madam Pince's assistant librarian until the end of term, and then take over teaching... er, is that... History of Wizardry?" 

"History of Magic, mum." 

"Oh, right. And Harry's planning to make another 'investment' in the twins' joke shop. He's even agreed to test some of their new inventions. You should have seen him turn into a giant haddock." 

Hermione's dad couldn't stop himself from chuckling. She couldn't help but smile at the mental image her mum's words created: a five-foot, nine-inch fish with green eyes and glasses. 

"So you see, we're not letting them struggle on their own," her mum gently concluded. The words instantly sobered her. 

"I -- I'd like to help out, too," she said. _But how?_ she asked silently, casting about in her brain for ideas. Her eyes drifted towards Ron. 

Her mother also looked towards Ron before speaking. "Cheer him up, dear. He's taking everything too much to heart. When he woke up yesterday, he was just so... desperate. I think that's the reason why he's trying so hard to do whatever he can, even if it kills him. He probably feels... I don't know, worthless, somehow." 

Hermione was shocked to hear her mother's words. "But... but _why_ would he feel that way?" 

"I guess you'll have to ask him when he wakes up," her dad answered. 

Ginny's arrival distracted her from brooding over Ron's depression. The youngest Weasley seemed cheerful enough -- she didn't look or sound overly miserable over her family's misfortunes, although she was a bit more serious than usual. She was hopeful that despite everything, her family would still pull through. It probably had to do with the fact that she and Harry were now a couple. Hermione remembered how Harry had walked up to Ginny a few nights before that fateful battle with Voldemort, and finally admitted his feelings. If only Ron had done the same, she would have had the right to comfort him, even... hold him in her arms. 

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey bustled into the room, carrying a steaming goblet. She groaned inwardly, knowing that the goblet was filled with a foul potion that she had to drink. And drink it she did, under the matron's watchful eye. She immediately felt drowsy. Through the haze that clouded her brain, she watched Ginny walking over to Ron's bed and pulling up a chair beside it to keep watch over him. She closed her eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep. 

It was morning when she woke up again. Ginny was sitting beside her bed, reading a Charms textbook and waiting for her to wake up. She found out that she had been asleep for an entire day. Ron woke up the day before, and had again insisted on assuming his duties as Head Boy without Madam Pomfrey's permission. He patrolled an entire corridor (instead of only half, before he passed out the previous day), and then crawled back to his bed exhausted. 

She also learnt that Ron had got up and left again just before she woke up. As Ginny scowled and muttered darkly about her brother's "idiotic behaviour," Hermione noticed a pattern to it. It was as though he didn't want to be in the same room with her on the off chance that she would wake up. But... why would he avoid her? Was it because of what happened when they had connected? Had she been wrong to think that what she felt during their connection was love? Had she wished so desperately for Ron to love her that she only felt what she wanted to feel? 

Ginny must have sensed how disappointed she was. "He'll be back soon. He said he was just going to talk to McGonagall about a few things." Suddenly, the redhead scowled, as though remembering something unpleasant. "I really _will_ put a Bat-Bogey hex on him if he's getting permission for me to stay here over the summer. I want to go home... well, I mean... I want to go help rebuild the Burrow, too." Ginny looked down at her clasped hands as they rested on her lap. "I can... I can help push Percy's wheelchair around, if they won't let me do anything else," she said, her voice sounding very much like a sad, frightened little girl. 

Hermione felt herself groping for words to make her friend feel better. "Maybe it's just because -- you're not allowed to do magic outside of school yet?" 

"Hermione! I'll be seventeen before term ends, you know that. Besides, I'm not a baby anymore! I helped fight off Dementors during the final battle, for Merlin's sake. They need me there! They... they should need me, shouldn't they?" 

The desperation in her friend's voice went straight to Hermione heart. "Oh, Ginny, I'm sure they'll--" Her voice trailed off when Ron limped into the room. 

Ginny jumped up from her chair and ran to him. "What did you talk to McGonagall about? What did she say? You didn't ask her to keep me here over the summer, did you?" 

Ron ignored her questions. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be in class?" he asked instead. 

Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's _Saturday_. And don't try to distract me. I asked you if--" She stopped talking when she saw Ron looking at Hermione. 

"H-hello, Ron." Hermione chided herself for sounding so nervous. 

"Hullo. How are you feeling?" He seemed oddly formal, as though they had just met for the first time. 

"Better than the last time I was awake, I guess. And you?" 

"Like I've been at the blasting end of a dozen Blast-ended Skrewts. But otherwise, I'm fine." 

She knew he was trying to appear normal., but something was wrong. He was different -- aloof, she would say. However, all her thoughts were swept away when Madam Pomfrey entered the room, holding a smoking goblet. 

"There you are, Weasley! How many times have I told you to stay in bed? Are you trying to kill yourself?" The matron dragged him to his bed, and he let himself be pulled along, probably because he looked about ready to faint with exhaustion. Madam Pomfrey shoved the goblet into his hands. "Drink this, all of it. Now!" 

Ron took a gulp of the potion and grimaced. "Ugh," he blurted, sticking out his tongue. 

"Don't you dare complain about how it tastes! Drink!" 

Ron was glassy-eyed by the time he had tipped the entire contents of the goblet into his mouth. He barely had time to crawl under the bed covers before he lost consciousness. Madam Pomfrey appeared satisfied with the results of the potion and strode over to Hermione's bed. 

"As for you, Miss Granger, you need to take this Strengthening potion twice a day. Furthermore, you are not to get out of bed until I say so." The matron pulled out, from somewhere inside her robes, a bottle containing a liquid so brilliantly blue that Hermione couldn't help thinking it was radioactive. 

She watched as the mediwitch used the bottle's enormous cap to measure out a portion of the blue liquid and handed it to her. She drank the potion in one gulp and instantly felt her eyelids grow heavy. What is it about healing potions that made people sleepy? Madam Pomfrey helped her settle her head into her pillow more comfortably, and by the time she closed her eyes, she couldn't remember what she was thinking about only a few seconds ago. 

She woke up a few hours later. Ginny was gone, and Ron was still asleep. She found a long, rectangular package wrapped in brown paper on top of her bedside cabinet. A card addressed to her indicated that the package came from the twins, who had returned to visit her, just as they promised. But seeing she was still asleep, they left her "something to play with," as the card said. 

Hermione opened the package somewhat fearfully, and heaved a sigh of relief when it didn't explode in her face. Inside the package was a fake wand with tassels hanging from the end of the hand grip. She waved the wand, and it turned into a stuffed toy that looked very much like Ron, down to the fringe of red hair that fell on his forehead. The little Ron figure was wearing Hogwarts school robes, and was holding a scarlet heart-shaped pillow in its arms that said "Kiss me, I'm yours" in gold letters. 

She sighed over the twins' present. Her eyes started to blur as her gaze drifted from the toy to Ron as he slept on his bed and back again. Ron was just like the doll -- wearing his heart where everyone could see what he was feeling and thinking. She hastily wiped away a tear that had rolled down her cheek. 

She couldn't help hugging the toy and kissing the top of its head, wishing she could do the same to the original. After a few moments, she held the doll up to her face and gently kissed its tiny mouth. All the blood rushed to her face as she realised what she had just done. Unconsciously, she gave the doll a little shake, and it turned back into a wand. She waved the wand, and it turned into the doll again. She giggled softly -- it was the first time she had laughed in months. 

She hid the doll underneath her pillow when she heard Madam Pomfrey's footsteps. The mediwitch gave her another dose of the Strengthening potion before walking over to Ron's bed to check on his condition. Hermione fought the drowsiness settling upon her long enough to turn towards the other side of her bed, so the matron wouldn't see her grabbing the little stuffed toy into a hug before closing her eyes. 

  



	3. Chapter Three Recovering

**CHAPTER THREE: RECOVERING**

  
  
  
  
When Hermione opened her eyes again, it seemed as though only a few minutes had passed. The sun slanted through the windows at almost the same angle as it did the last time she was awake. But then, she realised that another day had gone by while she slept. She hated losing days just being unconscious. She wanted to get up and see how the world looked like without Voldemort in it. 

She hated being the only occupant of the hospital wing. Well, one of the two remaining occupants, that is, if Ron was still confined there. She shuddered involuntarily when her thoughts flew to how the infirmary must have been filled to bursting just after the final battle ended. How many of her schoolmates had been able to walk out of this place on their own two feet, and how many had to be carried away with sheets draped over their lifeless bodies? 

She cast away all morbid thoughts from her head and decided to get up, the wrath of Madam Pomfrey be damned. But just as she was about to stir, her ears alerted her that two people were whispering to each other nearby. 

"And then what happened?" She recognized Ginny's voice, and, ever so slowly, she turned to get a better look at her friend. 

"I was going to give the sword to Harry, but then I saw the trolls, and I knew I had to face them," Ron answered. 

His voice was low and deep, and it sent shivers up and down her spine. Had his voice always been so electrifying? It didn't matter what he said, he could be swearing, for all she cared, but as long as he spoke in that low voice, she would listen to him with every fibre of her being. Her ears strained to hear the rest of his words. 

"Gin, I was terrified. I didn't know if I could do it. Then Fawkes settled on my shoulder and kind of -- sang to me. I remembered Fawkes had helped Harry the same way, back in our second year. He was only twelve back then. Merlin knows how frightened he must have been while he was down there in -- in --" 

"The Chamber of Secrets?" Ginny finished for him. 

"Y-yeah. Sorry." 

"It's okay." There was a short pause between brother and sister, each one seemingly deep in their own thoughts. Ginny broke the silence by asking, "and then?" 

"The fear left me, Gin. It just -- disappeared, and then I knew what to do. But those trolls, they were vicious. Their hides were so tough, and their smell -- it made my eyes water. They would come at me, all of them, all at the same time. And they had maces and -- those two-headed axes, like the ones with the suits of armour in the gallery of the third floor. I got hit so many times... my clothes were nearly torn off before I managed to--" 

"K-kill them?" 

Ron nodded. "It was the first time I'd ever killed anything larger than a doxy. Their blood was black, did you know that, Gin? Black and a hundred times fouler than stinksap. My shoulder felt like it had been broken off. And the last one just -- took his axe and sliced my scalp before I could--" 

Hermione was trembling uncontrollably by then. She didn't want to hear Ron's voice anymore. But Ron couldn't go on speaking just then. He had let out a sort of stifled sob. Ginny immediately pulled him into a hug, and was smoothing out his hair as tenderly as Mrs. Weasley herself would have done. Ron hugged her back and rested his head on her shoulder. Looking at brother and sister, at the way their hair blended into each other like halves of a fiery-red curtain drawn closed, she felt an irrational pang of jealousy. She wanted to be the one holding Ron that way, soothing him, attempting to erase his fears. 

They spoke to each other again, but their voices were muffled on each other's shoulder. Hermione couldn't understand what they were saying. Finally, Ron pulled away and settled back into bed. Ginny ran her hand through her brother's hair a few more times before whispering again. "Does she know --" 

"No, and she won't know unless you tell her." 

"Ron--" 

"No." 

"When are you going to be good enough?" 

"Never." 

"You know that's not true. Look at all you've done. You _do_ realise you're a hero now, whether you want to be or not, don't you?" 

"It doesn't matter." 

"Ron, I'm telling you--" 

"And I'm telling _you_ it's no use now. So what if I _did_ tell her? Is that going to be enough? At least, before all this happened, I could have given her a home. Back then, when her parents were... well, I -- I asked mum and dad if she could live with us. For good. It seemed right. Her house was gone, her parents were -- were sick, and all I wanted to do was hold her..." He seemed to choke on his words. 

"But you _did_ give her a home when she needed it the most. You gave her _you_ to hold on to when her life was falling apart. After all that, you still think she won't love you? You still think that somehow you're not worthy of her?" 

"Ginny--" 

"At night, you'd wake up because you heard her having nightmares, crying into her pillow, calling out your name and asking you to hold her. And you'd come down from your room and hold her until her nightmares went away. You did that every night for a week." 

"Yeah, every night until Voldemort blew up the Burrow and maimed Charlie and Percy." 

"Ron, did you -- do you think you'd been -- selfish, because you couldn't give her all of your time? Do you think you've abandoned her because we had problems of our own?" 

"I... I felt so helpless..." 

"Every one of us did. Even mum and dad. Even -- even Dumbledore." 

"Just -- stop it, Ginny. It's too late now. I've had my chance, but I didn't take it." 

"You're wrong. You can make a new beginning here. You can have something wonderful with her. Please, just try and talk to her. I'm sure she'll--" Ginny broke off when she turned and saw that Hermione was awake. "Er,... hello, Hermione. Goodness, look at the time! I -- I have to -- go to the library now. Bye!" Ginny sprang from her chair and practically Disapparated from the room. 

Ron's eyes had widened when he saw Hermione was awake, but otherwise showed no traces of surprise, nor indeed of any emotion. They both kept silent, listening to the sound of Ginny's retreating footsteps until it had died away. They both knew Hermione had heard... not everything, but the things that mattered. Ron opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again and shook his head slightly. He gave her a small, lopsided smile, and then turned to lie more comfortably on his side with his back to her. She hated not seeing his face. Before she could stop herself, she called out his name softly. 

He turned back towards her. Neither of them spoke for several moments. "What is it?" he asked at last, in the same low, deep voice she'd heard before, that made her skin tingle as if he had reached out and touched her. 

She opened and closed her mouth several times, unable to find her voice. The fact that he was looking into her eyes with a hungry expression on his face didn't help. She didn't know how much longer she could endure him staring at her like that. His eyes were so blue she could see their cobalt hue five beds down. 

His stare was the one thing she couldn't stand, ever since she realised she was in love with him. She could bear with his relentless teasing until he went too far and she lost her temper. She could even watch him being surrounded by girls who flirted shamelessly with him after each Quidditch match he won, without doing more than clench and unclench her hands at her sides. But she couldn't stand it when he looked at her for too long. She couldn't meet his gaze, because she was afraid he would figure out how she felt about him and stop being her friend. But now, as he watched her, she prayed he would be able to read her eyes and be comforted. 

It seemed he couldn't stand the silence any longer. "Hermione, look, I--" 

"Hey, you two, Madam Pomfrey says you should try eating now, to get your strength back. Dig in," Harry's voice echoed inside the infirmary. 

They both jumped and turned towards the entrance. They saw Harry floating a table that was covered with enough food to feed all four of the house Quidditch teams, which he set down near Hermione's bed. At first, she almost wished she could banish Harry to the Sahara for interrupting what could have been a golden opportunity for her and Ron to talk. But, she had to admit, having had nothing to eat for nearly two weeks had given her quite an appetite. 

It took quite a bit of effort on her part just to lift herself, but after several tries, she was finally able to sit up in bed. Harry placed several pillows behind her so she could rest her back comfortably against them. She looked towards Ron to see if he would join her. She watched as he got out of his bed, shuffled tiredly towards the table, filled a plate with food and placed it on a tray. He handed the tray to Harry, who settled it down on her lap. She smiled at them and started to eat. Food had never tasted so good to her before. She was on her fifth mouthful when she realised they were staring at her. 

"Why are you two looking at me like that? It's not like you've never seen me eat before," she huffed. 

Harry and Ron exchanged a look that seemed oddly like relief. Then Ron turned his eyes to the floor, the tips of his ears flaring to a dark pink. Harry gulped a couple of times before speaking. "It's just -- we're glad to see you're all right, that's all." 

Her heart skipped a few beats. She didn't know till just then how worried they had been about her. She tried to put as much cheer into her voice as possible. "I'm fine, really. I'll be up and about in no time, you'll see. Madam Pomfrey will be kicking me out of here by tomorrow." Not knowing what else to say, she looked down at her plate and took another bite of food. When she looked up, Harry and Ron were staring at her again. "Well? Are you two just going to stand there and watch me? Do you really think I could eat everything here by myself?" she demanded. 

"Well,... you do seem a bit... hungry... like a Blast-ended Skrewt that hasn't eaten in an hour," Harry answered. 

She blinked. Did Harry just... tease her? There was a twinkle in his eye that reminded her of the eleven year-old boy she had become friends with -- almost a lifetime ago. Now that the shadow of Voldemort had been lifted from their lives, he seemed determined to find joy in everything. And this new-found joy in him was infectious. Only a few seconds ago, she had wanted to wail and curse and thump her pillow to oblivion, but now she wanted to laugh and dance and sing at the top of her lungs. And yet, she didn't want to, out of respect for Ron's deep sadness. But then again, maybe Ron needed the warmth of a good laugh to lift his spirits. A hundred conflicting emotions raced through her. 

Harry was obviously expecting some sort of witty retort from her. Well then, she would try not to disappoint him. She tried to speak the way she usually did -- with a touch of irritation in her voice, as though she had just caught the two of them playing Exploding Snap when they should have been finishing their homework. "Ooh, just grab a plate and sit! You don't expect me to cut up your steak for you, do you?" 

"Why, no, Professor, whatever gave you that idea?" Harry answered in a simpering voice. 

"Oh, shut up," she growled, all the while unable to keep the corners of her mouth from lifting against her will. 

Harry seemed to know what was going through her head. He snorted as he saw the beginnings of a smile on her face. "It's about time things got back to normal around here," he said. 

To her surprise, Ron responded to the light-hearted mood that surrounded him. "I just need to hear one more word," he added. 

"Homework!" she blurted out. Suddenly, she felt laughter bubbling inside her. She looked at her two best friends. 

Ron's eyes twinkled for the first time in a very long time. "That's the word!" They laughed until tears rolled down their cheeks. 

  
  
  
  
  
Hermione slowly regained strength during the next three days. She was now able to sit up in bed and read her schoolbooks for an hour or two at a time without feeling as though a herd of hippogriffs had danced all over her back. Feeling adventurous, she even got out of bed and walked to the nearest window to let the sun shine on her. It would only be a matter of time before she was strong enough to leave the hospital wing. But the days seemed too long to her, mainly because she was often alone. 

Ron was just too stubborn -- he absolutely refused to rest. He struggled to perform most of his Head Boy duties without delegating them to the other prefects. He even scheduled practice for the Quidditch team. But Harry hid Ron's Cleansweep, as well as the other school brooms, to make sure Ron wouldn't be able to leave the ground. Time and again, Harry and fellow seventh years, teachers and even members of the Order tasked to help rebuild the school, have marched him back to the hospital wing. Ginny sent him a Howler at least once a day, bellowing at him to get some rest. But it was no use. He kept getting up and leaving the hospital wing, only to return an hour or two later barely able to walk back to his bed. He would sleep for a while, then get up and leave again. 

Hermione's temper was close to snapping. She had finally decided to do a full-body bind on him the next time he tried to leave his bed. But she hadn't counted on the fact that Madam Pomfrey's patience had finally worn thin. The matron marched into the infirmary carrying one of Argus Filch's chains from the dungeons and shackled Ron to his bed. He huffed, spluttered, cursed and even growled a few times, before giving in with as little grace as possible. Hermione thought that they would be able to talk at last, but by the time Ron calmed down, he had fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion. 

On the fourth day, Percy came to visit them. He wheeled his chair into the room with a bright smile on his face. At first, Hermione couldn't put her finger on the change she saw in him, apart from his disability. But then it hit her: Percy was no longer the supercilious, pompous git his brothers, especially the twins, had always made fun of. Pain and grief had stripped him of every pretense, and for the first time, he was showing who he truly was. She knew that he and Ron had made up over a year ago, but every now and then, Ron still displayed brief flashes of resentment against his older brother for causing a rift in the family during fifth year. 

It was painful for Hermione to watch his progress across the room. Each turn of the wheels produced a squeaking, grating sound. Percy cast a Silencing spell on the wheels, then flicked his wand to move the chair along. The Silencing spell wore off almost at the same time as the Propelling charm, which lasted approximately ten seconds. He would cast both charms and the chair would move forward, but it would squeak and halt again after ten seconds. Getting tired of casting the same spells over and over, Percy tucked away his wand and moved the chair with his hands. The chair still squeaked, but at least it didn't lurch every time it started and stopped. That seemed odd to her. She thought all magical wheelchairs could climb stairs and were self-propelling, not to mention quiet. If the proper charms aren't placed on that chair soon, Madam Pince would have a fit every time Percy was inside the library. 

Hermione was startled out of her thoughts when Percy wheeled over to her for a quick greeting before proceeding to Ron's bedside, intending to visit with her as soon as he had talked with his youngest brother. When he spun the wheelchair around to head for Ron's bed, she saw how threadbare and rusty the wheels were. The words _"Property of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries"_ were clearly painted on the back of the chair. Smaller letters proclaimed the chair to be _"A Donation from the Family of the Late Dai Llewellyn, 1958."_ Merlin, that was... forty years ago. No wonder the chair was ready to fall apart. It was, as Ron would have called it, rubbish. But if St. Mungo's hadn't given Percy that squeaky old chair, he wouldn't have been able to go anywhere at all. Her heart twisted painfully in her chest. 

Ron got out of bed as his brother drew alongside, though he moved rather awkwardly, as one of his arms was still shackled to the headboard. The two of them looked into each other's eyes for a long moment, until Ron grabbed his brother into a hug and wept over him. Ron spoke of things Hermione had never known before. How much Percy's behaviour had affected him. How hot his anger had been over his mother's grief when Percy returned his Christmas jumper. How he had pretended to forgive Percy when he first came back to the Burrow, sensing his mother's need to heal the breach. How he had stopped Fred and George from beating Percy into a bloody pulp when he first came home to apologise. And how he had grieved over Percy when the mediwizards from St. Mungo's said he would never be able to walk again. Percy wept with him. 

Her stomach lurched so violently she thought she would throw up. She shouldn't be here -- she was hearing something that should have been kept among family. Traitorously, however, Fred's words the other day kept ringing in her ears: _you're family too, after all._ She lay back among her pillows, unable to do anything except let her tears flow. 

Percy helped Ron get back into bed and spoke softly to him until he fell asleep. She tried not to listen, but judging from the tone of Percy's words, she guessed he was speaking words of deep regret and new-found love for his younger brother. She wiped away her tears as Percy wheeled his chair towards her. Unable to say anything, she merely wrapped her arms around him and comforted him until he took his leave. But instead of leaving the hospital wing as she thought he would do, Percy headed toward Madam Pomfrey's office, probably intending to ask about Ron's condition. 

After a few minutes, Percy left Madam Pomfrey's office and waved to her as he exited the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey came into the infirmary immediately afterwards. Hermione's jaw dropped when the matron undid Ron's shackles and gently floated him to the bed next to hers. The matron turned to speak to her, ignoring the fact that her mouth was hanging open. "Now, Miss Granger, just because you two are right next to each other doesn't mean you have my permission to talk all night. I expect you two to rest. You should be up and about in a few days if you take your potions regularly and eat everything I send up." Her mouth was still hanging open long after the mediwitch had left. 

She lay in silence, thinking about what Percy must have said to Madam Pomfrey to warrant the change in Ron's sleeping arrangements. She finally concluded that his brother never intended to play any sort of trick on him. Ron's family was just... bent on pushing him towards her. She blushed as she realised all the implications of that conclusion. It meant the Weasleys knew what she and Ron felt for each other, and how badly they needed to be together. It also meant they had accepted her as daughter and sister. That was probably why the twins teased her relentlessly, why Ginny confided in her, why Mrs. Weasley fussed over her and Mr. Weasley ruffled her hair affectionately whenever he bid her goodnight... The thought of belonging with people she had always held close to her heart gave her a rush of warmth that started from deep within, filling her whole being before breaking out in the form of the widest smile to ever appear on her face. She must have smiled so brightly she could have lit up the dungeons in Hogwarts. 

She watched Ron as he slept peacefully on the bed beside hers. He was so close, but the way things were between them, he might as well be on -- on Uranus. She couldn't stop the fit of giggles that came as she remembered how angry Lavender had been over Ron's Uranus joke during their Divination class in fourth year. Then she sighed, knowing that Ron's proximity to her would probably render her sleepless for the rest of the night. 

She reached inside her blankets to retrieve the fake wand the twins gave her, and waved it until it turned into the doll once again. She had been very careful about hiding the toy from everyone, taking it out only when she was sure no one would see her. She knew her behaviour was pathetic -- showering her affections on the doll because the boy -- no, no longer a boy -- the _man_ she loved insisted on keeping his distance. She kissed the doll's mouth several times before she snuggled with it, finally managing to catch a few fitful hours of sleep. 

When Ron woke up the next day and saw how close he was to her, his face immediately turned magenta. She had never seen him look more adorable. When he finally spoke, it seemed as if his tongue was palsied, and his voice was about an octave higher than usual. "Wh-why am I... how did I... when... d-did you see who... I'll _kill_ Fred and George!" 

_Uh-oh,_ she thought. Although Ron's suspicions were not directed at Percy, she didn't want him angry with that particular brother again. She was afraid their newly-restored relationship might not be able to withstand even the slightest joke. So she blurted out the first thing that came into her head. "N-no, it wasn't them. It was -- it's -- me." 

For a moment, he looked as though he had been hit by a _Confundus_ charm. "You... you wanted me..." His voice trailed off. 

His words made her heart flutter. He had no idea how right he was. But the weight of what she had just said, and the confusion in his face, had probably magnified the awkwardness between them even more. She tried to give him the impression that her reasons for wanting him near her were purely logical. "It's -- well, I'm -- I'm --" Only one word came to mind: "lonely." After a long pause, she continued, "and we've kept each other company in here since third year, so I thought..." 

He became even more flustered. "Did you ask Pomfrey to-- or did you, er--" 

"Well, after Percy left, she came out of her office and brought you over here, so..." 

"Oh... well, I -- I --" He was having trouble saying what he wanted to say, but then he blurted out, "I'm glad." 

His admission astounded her. "Y-you are?" 

"Yeah. I -- I've missed you. I've missed this -- just talking to you. We haven't talked to each other for awhile." 

She wanted so badly to tell him that if he hadn't been so busy pretending to be invincible, he wouldn't have missed her at all. But any words she had thought about saying out loud suddenly died in her throat when she saw him looking at her rather strangely. 

"Er... what is that?" he asked, pointing to something just underneath her pillow. 

_Oh, no... the doll!_ she thought. She was quite sure she'd turned it back into the fake wand, so she decided to take the chance. She pulled the toy out from under her pillow and held it out to him. She inwardly sighed with relief when she saw it was in its wand form. "It's a get-well-soon present from Fred and George." 

He smiled. "Cool! What does it turn into?" But before she could answer, he reached out and took the wand from her. 

She nearly jumped out of her bed. "No, don't, it's--" 

It was too late. He had waved the wand. Both of them stared open-mouthed as the wand in his hand turned into a stuffed toy that looked just like _her_, wearing Hogwarts school robes and holding a pink heart-shaped pillow that read, "Kiss me, I'm yours" in scarlet letters. She stopped breathing when she saw a look of love and longing flash across his face as he held up the little doll in front of him. 

"It -- it's you," he whispered in awe. She thought he was going to kiss the doll, and hoped with all her heart that he would kiss her instead. But he showed no indication that he even thought about kissing either her or the toy. "But... why would Fred and George give you a doll that looks like you?" he asked. 

"They didn't. It didn't turn into me while I -- played with it," she answered. A gasp escaped her as she understood the complexity of the magic behind that deceptively simple object. "It must turn into different things, depending on the person holding it." 

"Wow. They'll make a fortune selling this." He whistled in admiration. "Who would've thought those prats were so bloody brilliant?" 

"Yeah," she agreed. They fell silent for several minutes. 

He broke the silence by asking, "so, what did it turn into when you were playing with it?" 

It was the one question she dreaded to hear him ask, but she knew she had to answer. "I'll show you -- but shake it first." 

He complied, and his eyes widened in surprise as the doll turned into a wand again. He passed the wand over to her, and mouthed soundlessly like a suffocating goldfish when he saw the wand turn into a miniature version of himself in her hands. 

He looked straight into her eyes. The weight of his stare overwhelmed her entire being. He stretched out his arm and tried to touch her hand from where he lay, nearly falling from his bed with the effort. She extended her own hand to meet him halfway, but despite his long arms, the distance between their beds was just too great. Their fingertips hovered just millimetres apart. 

He threw off the blankets wrapped around his body and moved to climb out of bed. She trembled as she pictured him pulling her up into his arms and not letting her go all night long. But the sound of approaching visitors made him lie back down and pull the covers over him. The failure to make contact with him had left a void in her heart so wide that it swallowed up every thought but one: to get a hold of her real wand so she could move their beds together as soon as their visitors had left. But as luck would have it, their visitors were their parents, neither of whom budged from their seats all day, until Madam Pomfrey came to administer the usual Healing and Strengthening potions and Dreamless Sleep draught. 

When Ron and Hermione woke up the next morning, the matron decided they could already go back to their respective dormitories.   
  
  



	4. Chapter Four The Beginning

**CHAPTER FOUR: THE BEGINNING**

  
  
  
  
Hermione had got so used to the silence inside the hospital wing that it was quite a jolt to her ears to be back inside Gryffindor Tower again. Everyone seemed bent on making as much noise as they possibly could. At first, she thought she could stay in her favourite seat by the fire -- after all, she needed to sit down after that long walk back to the tower. Ron even sat down beside her to keep her company, so she felt everything would be fine. But the sounds of Exploding Snap and Wizard's Chess being played all around her brought to mind memories of the final battle. She stood up -- rather too quickly it seemed, because she felt her knees buckle. Ron caught her just in time. Luckily, he had chosen the same moment to get up from the seat next to hers. 

He walked her to the foot of the girls' staircase with one arm wrapped around her waist. "Sorry, this is as far as I'm supposed to go. Will you be all right?" 

The worry etched in his face made her knees even weaker. "I -- I guess. Thanks," was all she could say. 

"Will you be coming down for lunch?" 

"I don't know. I still feel a bit weak. What about you?" 

"Have to. Keeping the peace, and all." 

"You're making me look like a lazy arse for not doing my duties too." 

He smiled at her choice of words. "You don't feel well. No one'll blame you for that." 

"Neither do you, but it hasn't stopped you from trying to kill yourself with overwork." 

He shook his head dismissively. "That's different." 

"How? You're Head Boy, I'm Head Girl. Ergo, if you're expected to do your duty, I'm also expected to do mine." 

"It's _different_." 

_"How?"_

"It just is, all right? I can't explain how, or why, but it is." 

"Ron--" 

"You should go get some rest. I'll have Ginny call you down to lunch, okay?" 

She sighed. The tone of his voice warned her that there was no room for argument. She had heard that tone of voice countless times before, and she usually ignored it, much to her regret. But today, she heeded it. She tried to delude herself that it was probably because she was still too weak to discuss the matter with him. _Yeah, right,_ a voice echoed in her head. She knew the truth: she couldn't even think of arguing with him when the look in his eyes was so intense. "Okay," she answered, surpised at how meek her voice sounded. 

Somewhere in the jumble of her emotions, she found herself in her room, crawling into bed and closing her eyes. The last thing she felt before falling asleep was a touch of something soft and warm brushing her forehead. 

  
  
  
  
  
She jerked awake. It was already dark. She had slept the day away. At first, she couldn't remember how she got up to her room. But then she recalled a pair of strong arms holding her up as she hobbled upstairs and along the hallway. She got up shakily when she noticed something wrapped in a napkin on top of her night table. The bundle contained slices of roast beef tucked into a few rolls and several treacle tarts. She had already bitten into a roll when she found a note inside the bundle that read: 

  
  
Dear Hermione, 

Ron wouldn't leave me alone till I promised to bring this up to you. I don't know why he didn't do it himself, seeing as he has special clearance to go anywhere he needed to, being Head Boy and all. 

I told him it made no sense for him to avoid you while getting into a right strop worrying about you at the same time. But he just ignores me and goes about as if all the misery in the world should be placed on his shoulders. 

I know it's not my place to say this, but please do something, anything, to make him feel better. He tries to hide it from everyone, but we both know how terribly lonely he is. 

I know I'm interfering, but I'm not sorry,  
Ginny 

  
  
Hermione swallowed hard to stop herself from bursting into tears. After all, she needed to cheer Ron up, and she wouldn't be able to do it if she was trembling with emotion. She got up and took the longest bath she had ever taken to calm her nerves. Then she finished off the food Ginny left for her, and felt her strength returning with each bite. 

A few minutes later, she found herself dressed in her school uniform and standing in the middle of an empty common room. The boys' staircase beckoned to her, almost taunting her to prove her courage. Everyone was probably still eating dinner at the Great Hall, so nobody would know that she went someplace she wasn't supposed to go. But then again, she also had special clearance to go anywhere she needed to, and nobody would be able to stop her. Without another moment's thought, she marched upstairs and went straight to the Head Boy's room. 

The door to Ron's room was open just wide enough for her to slip through. She stood just inside the dormitory, rooted to the spot by what she saw. He had just taken a shower and was drying his hair off with a towel. He was wearing a tattered gray bathrobe that barely skimmed the back of his knees. It was at least three sizes too small for him. The sleeves of the robe were in danger of bursting at the junction of stitches between the shoulder and arm due to the frequent movements of his upper body. All she wanted to do was release him from the confines of that ridiculous robe, feeling him to be as fettered by that robe as he was by... whatever it was that made him feel "terribly lonely," as Ginny put it. Yet, it wasn't the desire to see his naked body that was raging inside her so much as the need to make him happy again. She had to close her eyes for several moments, knowing that if she stared too hard at him, he would feel he was being watched. 

He hadn't sensed her presence as yet. His back was to her, and he was concentrating on what seemed to be a task of utmost importance. He had slung the towel over his shoulders and was now carefully spreading out his school uniform over his bed. He smoothed his shirt and spread the sleeves full length on either side, as though he was going to iron it. He did the same thing for his trousers and jumper. She watched as he cast a Cleaning charm on the clothes, then an Ironing charm, a Fresh-smelling charm and finally an _Impervius_ charm. He folded the clothes as neatly as he could and placed them on top of his pillow. He repeated the entire process for his school robes, adding a Mending charm to fix the fraying edges, tears and holes he found in it. Then he took care of his undershirt, boxers and socks. 

She was wondering why he was exerting all his strength to do something that he would have been previously content to let the House-elves take care of. But then, the answer hit her: those were the only clothes he had left. He certainly wouldn't have let them be carted off and cleaned while he stood around wearing only a bathrobe that didn't even fit him properly. 

He still hadn't sensed that he wasn't alone. That was the only explanation for him to have done what he did next. In one sweeping motion, he undid the ties of the bathrobe and peeled it off his body, leaving him standing naked before her. His long, lean body seemed to shimmer in the dim light of the room. She would have ogled him, probably even drooling at the muscles that flexed as he moved... were it not for the scars. His shoulders and back were disfugured by ugly criss-crossing patterns of the wounds he had received in battle, the darker ones indicating cuts that penetrated deep into his flesh. She knew he was strong -- he had to be, to have survived a fight with trolls. But as he stood there with his scars exposed, his vulnerability brought tears to her eyes. 

He took up his boxers to make room for the towel to be spread out on the bed. She almost wished that he wouldn't put them on, but he did. He fumbled for his undershirt and put it on as he shivered slightly. He cast a Drying charm on his towel and proceeded to clean and iron it. 

The spells he had been casting seemed to have left him exhausted. He dropped his wand on the bed, walked over to the window seat and sank into it, his back still towards her. He held up an object lying on the seat. It seemed to be one of the jumpers his mum had made for him -- at least she thought so, as it was maroon. But it was little more than a rag now, a casualty of the Burrow's destruction. He buried his face in it with a groan that went straight to her heart. 

She shouldn't be here, watching him relax the tight rein of control he exerted over his emotions. But she couldn't leave him alone. He was grieving and she wanted to comfort him. She thought for a moment, then slipped out of the room, knocked softly on the door and went back inside, pretending to have arrived just at that moment. 

He didn't move a muscle. She cleared her throat. He didn't react to her presence. She whispered his name. Still no response from him. She walked over to him and gently placed her hand on his shoulder. "Ron?" she whispered again. 

"You shouldn't be in here," he murmured, his face still hidden in the folds of the maroon rag. 

She placed her other hand on top of his head and threaded her fingers through his hair. It was so soft it felt like velvet in her hand. She would have been content to just stand there and touch his hair all night long. 

His muffled voice startled her out of her reverie. "Please -- just -- go away -- y-you shouldn't -- be here." 

The words he spoke didn't register in her mind. What she had caught was the desperation in his voice. "Ron... don't shut me out. I want to be with you. I want to -- to share everything with you. Please..." 

When he still didn't move or speak, she knelt in front of him and closed her fingers around his wrists. She tugged them down slowly, revealing his face to her. The pain she saw in his eyes broke her heart. The emotions that were overpowering him were also flooding her whole being, making it almost impossible to withstand his gaze. She let go of his wrists and moved her hands up to cradle his face. His cheeks were hot -- almost feverish. His skin was an odd mixture of smoothness, from the cheekbones up to the area just beneath his eyes, and roughness, over the stretch from his jawbone to his chin where stubble was beginning to crop up. 

When she looked into his eyes again, she was stunned at how dark they had become. His eyes were now the colour of the sky at the onset of a storm. On impulse, she maneuvered herself onto the window seat beside him and wrapped her arms around him. He buried his face in her hair. She ran her hands up and down his back. Something hot trickled down the side of her neck. 

"Go on. Let it all out," she breathed in his ear. His tears started falling down like a rain of molten fire, soaking the collar of her school shirt. He pulled her to him, holding on as though his life depended on it. Her own tears fell as she realised he couldn't even mourn unless she was there to let him cry. She had _that_ much power over him. The discovery intoxicated her. 

After a few moments, he straightened himself out and brushed away his tears with the back of his hand. "It's very stupid of me to do that," he whispered. "After all, it's not as if anything tragic happened to my life, at least not in the same way as Harry's. He's had to grow up not knowing what love is, and he's lost a lot of people he cares about. Compared to that, I'm just being -- well, stupid. So there's a hole in the ground where the Burrow used to be. That's not equal to losing one's parents, right? The stuff I owned -- which I once called 'rubbish' -- I don't have that anymore, but it was rubbish to begin with, anyway. Charlie and Percy aren't okay, but they're alive. Charlie remembers something from when he was five, Mum says, and he still loves dragons, so he'll be all right. Percy swears he can move his big toe. So it's okay, isn't it? And I -- I still have my wand, although I have Lucius Malfoy to thank for fixing it. Isn't that funny? Bloody hilarious, in fact. So nothing really happened to me. Lots of folks have lost their homes, and even worse, during the war. I guess I'm just being an idiot over all that's happened." 

"Ron, shush... don't talk like that. You shouldn't be thinking you have no reason to be sad, or that you have nothing to be unhappy about. You have every right to grieve." 

"No, I don't. I'm just whining. People have _died_ in this war, and I'm carrying on about a house." 

"But you let me cry about Mr. Brown when my house burnt down." 

"What? Who?" 

"Mr. Brown. My teddy bear." 

He let out a feeble snort. "Oh, that. Well, your parents were in hospital. You've earned the right to cry about whatever you want." 

"And you don't? You've lost just as much as I have. You've lost your innocence, too." 

"That's nothing to cry about. We all lose it. All of us. All the time. War or no war. It happens." 

"Yes, it _is_ worth crying over. It's not fair. We paid such a high price. We're entitled to kick and scream and 'carry on,' as you put it." 

"I'm not really entitled to much of anything. Never have." 

She didn't like his tone of voice. It just wasn't him. It was as though he had lost all hope. "Ron, don't--" 

"Why not? It's true." 

"Ron, please..." 

But he wasn't listening to her anymore. He stood up, crossed his arms over his chest and fixed his eyes on something only he could see outside the window. 

She stood in front of him and uncrossed his arms. She held onto his hands. His fingers remained curled within her palms, unresponsive to her touch. She tried to catch his eye, but he was determined not to look at her. "Ron, please talk to me." 

"Why do you even bother with me? It's not like I'm anything special," he murmured, his eyes still staring into the darkness. 

"What are you going on about? Of course you're special. You're -- you're my -- best friend." She was on the verge of saying she loved him, but thought that perhaps it wasn't the right time. She squeezed his hands gently. 

"Well, maybe you should make other friends besides me." 

"Why are you acting like this? Are you -- have you -- grown tired of me?" 

That made him turn around and face her. His fingers wrapped around her own. "What? Where did you get that idea? How can you even say that? God, Hermione, can't you see? You -- you're too good for me. Everything that I am -- all that I thought I was -- it's all gone now. And I just realised I didn't have all that much to begin with." 

"Oh, Ron... that's not true. It isn't. You have a big heart and you give so much of yourself to the people you care about. Please... just because the Burrow's gone doesn't mean you've lost your identity." 

"Did you know Mum and Dad were going to leave the Burrow to me? Bill wants to live in London, or in France with Fleur. Charlie already has a house in Romania, which he doesn't remember, but Mum and Dad will probably stay there with him for a bit. Percy -- well, after Fudge promoted him in our fourth year, he said he'd rather get a place that reflected his status in the Ministry. And he did. In spite of everything, he's determined not to be a burden to anyone. The twins are talking about buying the place where their shop used to be. And Ginny -- Harry will take care of her. So that means I get to keep it. Wonderful thing, really, owning a hole in the ground. Just splendid." 

"But we can fix it, I know we can. I'll help you. Harry will, too. We'll all go back and help rebuild the Burrow. We've got to try..." 

"It's no use. I have nothing -- I _am_ nothing." 

She winced as though he had slapped her. She knew what he was trying to do. He was digging in his heels, trying to push her away. She didn't understand why, but she had to get through to him, to get through the wall he was building to keep her out. It had to be said -- she had to tell him. "You have me, if that's any comfort. I love you, Ron." 

He backed away from her so fast that for a moment, she thought she'd said she hated him. "Please, don't..." he said in a strangled whisper. 

She stepped forward. "Why not? I've loved you for years. And I know you love me back." 

"You shouldn't..." He stepped back even further, until he was pressed up against the wall. 

"But I do," she murmured. She reached out and touched his forearm. 

He trembled when her hand made contact with his skin. "Y-you should be with someone who can take care of you," he said. 

"I am," she answered, as she brushed her fingers up and down his forearm. Gooseflesh broke out all over his arm at her touch. 

"I -- I -- I meant someone who'll give you security. There'll be hard times ahead, so you'll need someone who's -- rolling in it." 

_"'Rolling in it?'"_

"Yeah, you know... someone who could offer you a home, and who's -- rich enough to support you." 

"Like... Viktor?" she asked, her eyes dancing with mischief. She couldn't help it. He tried so hard to be noble, to sacrifice his own happiness just to make sure she didn't have to worry about her future, but he was so awkward about it that she fell in love with him all over again. 

"NO!" He nearly leapt out of his skin. That sudden surge of emotion made him look at her again. "Well, yeah... I guess. I think he's a slimy old git, but... You deserve someone who can give you everything and let you do anything you want. Someone with enough gold to pay wages to all the house-elves in the wizarding world, if you want to. Someone who'll take you all over the world because you think it'll be a learning experience. So, yeah, I guess... someone like -- like Krum." 

She raised an eyebrow at him. He hurried on before she could interrupt him. "He's always wanted you. He even asked you to stay with him in Bulgaria when your house burnt down." 

She laughed softly. "Viktor may want me, but I could never want him. Maybe it has to do with the fact that I love _you_." She moved closer to him. He swallowed hard and looked away. Her hands moved up his arms, coming to rest on his shoulders. She stood on tiptoe and wrapped her arms around him. 

He melted into her almost at once. She sighed as he embraced her. He actually believed he wasn't good enough to be loved. She didn't know what else to do to convince him otherwise. She was still thinking about what to say to him, when he reached up to unwrap her arms from around his neck. He held on to her by the shoulders and kept her at arm's length. 

It was so cold, now that she wasn't in his arms anymore. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, just so he'd let her stay, but it was his eyes that stopped her. The way he looked at her made her gasp and blush. She saw everything he felt for her reflected in his eyes. They had connected again; but this time, instead of merging only their thoughts and emotions, their very souls had met and clasped. 

He took a stray wisp of her hair between his fingers and marveled at it. After tucking it behind her ear, his fingers slid into her hair and tangled with her curls. Then he closed his eyes and sighed. He leaned forward and kissed the top of her head. He wrapped his free arm around her waist and drew her close. He bent lower to bury his face in her hair. She laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart thundering beneath her ear. 

"I've always wanted to do this -- to just run my hand through your hair." His voice, muffled with emotion, comforted her in ways she didn't even begin to understand. His mouth gently touched her neck, and he murmured "I love you" against her skin. She could feel his lips forming the words, and the words seeping into her skin down to her blood. She now recognized that touch of warmth she felt on her forehead before falling asleep in her room earlier: it was his lips. That one little kiss he gave her helped her sleep with a light heart. She closed her eyes and snuggled deeper into his chest. 

The next sensation she felt was heat -- overwhelming, engulfing heat that came from his lips. From deep, fiery kisses that made her toes curl and her knees knock together. She clung to him, trembling with the knowledge that the world would be unbearably cold and empty if she broke contact with him. As his kisses became more intense, she felt a compulsion to make contact with all of him. 

He moaned into her mouth when her fingers brushed against a raised portion of his skin through his thin undershirt. _Oh, Merlin! Does he have scars on his chest, too?_ she thought. She broke away from his mouth long enough to whisper, "I want to see it... please let me see..." She tugged at his undershirt and kept on tugging until he took it off to please her. 

"I -- I have to --" he pointed to the shirt in his hand apologetically. She nodded. He folded his undershirt and set it down on the window seat before standing in front of her again. 

It took all of Hermione's strength to keep from crying out. If possible, the scars on his chest looked worse than the ones on his back. The one that she had touched cut diagonally across dead center and just above his heart. It had, in all likelihood, exposed his breastbone. She traced each scar with trembling fingers, and then with her lips. At the same time, his mouth moved across the top of her head and across her temple, giving back gentleness for gentleness, until the fever overcame them and his mouth sealed across hers once again. 

She didn't notice that her robes, jumper and tie were melting away from her body one piece at a time, fluttering onto the floor like the beating of a dove's wings. She snapped out of the drugging influence of his mouth on hers when he jerked back, panting heavily. They both became aware that they were starting something that would consume them if they went too far. But instead of scaring her into leaving his room, she made up her mind to lose herself in him. 

At first, he tried to hold back, not because he didn't want her, but because he wanted her too much. She moaned in protest, choosing not to leave his embrace. He bowed to her will. Each caress was reverent, every touch of lips against skin worshipful. Soon, she was revelling at the sensation of lying naked in his arms, with no barriers between them. 

He stretched her so impossibly wide, then filled her until the sensation was too much to take. She felt as though a lightning bolt shot through her as he slowly buried himself within her. But after that brief flash of pain, her body filled with a pleasure that was as elemental as fire and rain and earth. His hands caressed her, and he breathed his love into her. He moved over her, drawing all her senses to him -- to the delicious, burning, aching friction he was creating. The tremours came then, unexpectedly and from deep within, from where their bodies were joined. She soared so high that she screamed his name with the rapture of it. Then she plunged into oblivion, taking him with her. 

She mewed softly as he emptied himself inside her. His seed was hotter than his tears. She closed her eyes and smiled, knowing that no one else would ever learn that secret. 

She was about to fall asleep when she felt him ease up from where he was pinning her to the bed. The sense of loss when he pulled out of her almost made her cry. She whimpered like a frightened child. He instantly gathered her up in his arms, soothing her, murmuring incoherent words in her ear. But she knew what they meant. Love. Devotion. Commitment. Sacrifice. Forever. She clung to him with all her strength until she fell asleep. 

  
  
  
  
  
Some time later, she heard a voice calling out softly. "Ron? Hermione?" She heard the door creak open, but she was still half-asleep and didn't want to wake up just yet. _It's just a dream,_ she thought, and tightened her hold on Ron. 

Another voice spoke. "Did you find them, Remus?" 

"Er, well,... that is..." 

"Are they in there?" 

"Well..." 

"Stand aside, Remus." 

"But,... Professor McGonagall--" 

"Their parents are worried about them. I just want to make sure they're--" 

The door creaked again, and Hermione's eyes flew open. It wasn't a dream, after all. There, by the door, stood Remus Lupin and Professor McGonagall. Gryffindor's head of house gasped and clapped a hand to her mouth. Hermione tried to sit up in bed, but Ron's arms kept her securely in place half-atop his chest. 

It was then that she remembered she had nothing on, save for the blanket (and Ron's arms) wrapped around her. Ron's shallow breathing and rapid heartbeat told her that he had also been awakened. 

Remus swung the door back until it closed. As he did so, Hermione heard him say to Professor McGonagall, "I'm glad they found their way at last." 

"So am I, Remus, so am I," Professor McGonagall replied just before the door clicked shut. The sound of their retreating footsteps died away after a few moments. 

Hermione looked up at Ron. He bent his head and kissed her. "And we'll walk down this road forever, won't we?" he asked. 

She nodded. "Forever," she echoed.  
  
  
  
  
  
-- THE END --   
  
  
  
  
**A/N:** Many thanks for all your reviews. I hope you enjoyed this story. I didn't disappoint you with the ending, did I? Anyway, feel free to give your feedback. 

Special thanks to three wonderful ladies -- Cara, Velvethope and simons_flower -- who read this story in its roughest draft (when I say rough, I mean cringe-worthy), and then had to wade through more drafts before I got it right (or at least readable). If you think this story wasn't all that bad, then go read the stories of these three authors to see some _really_ good fics.  



End file.
